The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud

  Josar and Thaddeus were not surprised at the servant’s story. They tried to calm the boy as they made their way with him to the house of Marcius, and there they found their friend still unconscious, the bedclothes stained crimson with blood, while his servant cowered in a corner, weeping and praying and waving his arms in fear and terror.

  “Calm yourself!” Josar ordered the other youth. “The physician will be here at once, and he will help him. But tonight, my friends, you must be strong. You must not be daunted either by fear or compassion, for if you are, the life of Marcius could be in grave danger.”

  The young servants began to grow calmer. When the physician arrived, he sent everyone out of the chamber and remained there alone with his assistant. They were long in coming out.

  “He is resting quietly. For a few days, I want him to remain undisturbed; these drops, mixed in the water you give him to drink, will make him sleep and ease the pain until the wound has healed.”

  “We wish to ask you a favor,” Thaddeus said to the physician. “We, too, wish to cut out our tongues.”

  The physician, a Christian like them, looked at them in distress.

  “Our Lord would not look kindly upon these mutilations.”

  “We must do this,” Josar explained, “for it is only in this way that Maanu will be unable to make us speak. He will torture us to learn where the shroud that was the grave cloth of Jesus has been hidden. We do not know, but we might say something that would endanger those who do. We do not wish to flee the city; we must remain here with our brothers and sisters, because surely all Christians will suffer the wrath of Maanu.”

  “Please,” Thaddeus pleaded, “help us. We are not as brave as Marcius, who cut out his tongue with his own knife.”

  “What you ask me is contrary to the laws of God. My duty is to help heal; I cannot mutilate any man.”

  “Then we shall do it ourselves,” said Josar.

  The resolute tone of Josar’s voice convinced the physician.

  They went first to the house of Thaddeus, and there the healer mixed the contents of a small vial with water. When Thaddeus had fallen into a deep slumber, the physician asked Josar to leave the chamber and go to his own house. He would follow him there soon.

  Josar impatiently awaited the arrival of the physician, who after a short time entered with a gesture of contrition.

  “Lie on the bed and drink this,” he told Josar. “It will make you sleep. When you awake you will have no tongue. May God forgive me.”

  “He has already forgiven you, my friend.”

  The queen had made her ablutions and carefully arranged her hair and tunic. The news of the death of Abgar had reached the farthest corner of the palace, and she expected her son, Maanu, to appear at the door of the royal chambers at any moment.

  The servants, with the aid of the physicians, had prepared Abgar’s body for viewing by the citizens of Edessa. The king had asked that prayers be said for the repose of his soul before his body was placed in the royal mausoleum.

  The queen did not know whether Maanu would allow her to bury Abgar in accordance with the laws of Jesus, but she was prepared to fight that last battle for the man she loved.

  During the hours that she sat alone with the body of Abgar, the queen looked deep within her heart for the reason her son might hate her so. And she found the answer; indeed, she had always known it, though until that morning she had never faced it. She had not been a good mother. No, she had not. Her love for Abgar excluded all others; she had not allowed anything or anyone, even her children, to keep her from the side of the king. In addition to Maanu, she had brought four other children into the world: three daughters and a son, who died soon after he was born. Her daughters had held little interest for her; they were quiet children who were soon married off in order to strengthen alliances with other kingdoms. She had hardly felt it when they were gone, so intense was her love for the king.

  That devotion was also why she had suffered in silence the pain of Abgar’s love for Ania, the dancing girl who had infected him with her fatal illness. The queen let not a word of reproach pass her lips, so that nothing might cloud her relationship with the king.

  During her life she had had no time for Maanu, so all-absorbing was her love for Abgar. And now she was going to die, because she was certain that Maanu would not allow her to live. She was sorry for the manner in which she had failed her son, for not having been a true mother to him. How selfish she had been! Would Jesus forgive her?

  The powerful voice of Maanu reached the royal chamber before the prince himself did.

  “I want to see my father!”

  “He is dead.”

  Maanu glared at her defiantly.

  “Then I am the king of Edessa.”

  “You are, and all shall recognize you as such.”

  “Marvuz! Take the queen away!”

  “No, my son, not yet. My life is in your hands, but first we must bury Abgar like the king he was. Allow me to carry out his last instructions, which the royal scribe will confirm for you.”

  Ticius approached warily, bearing a roll of parchment.

  “My king, Abgar dictated to me his last wishes.”

  Marvuz whispered something in Maanu’s ear. Maanu looked all around the chamber, and he saw that the head of the royal guard was right: In addition to the servants, the apartment was filled with scribes, physicians, guards, and courtiers, all watching expectantly. He could not allow himself to be guided by hatred, at least not obviously, or he would frighten those who would be his subjects. Far from gaining their cooperation and consent, he would find they conspired against him. He realized that the queen had won yet again. He wanted to kill her on the spot, and with his own hands, but he had to wait, had to agree to bury his father with all the pomp and respect accorded a king.

  “Read, Ticius,” he ordered.

  Slowly, and with trembling voice, the scribe read Abgar’s last instructions. Maanu, flushed with rage, swallowed hard.

  Abgar had instructed that a Christian religious rite be celebrated over him, and that his entire court pray for his soul. At this ritual, Maanu was to be present and accompanied by the queen. For three days and three nights his body was to lie in that first temple that he had ordered Josar to build. After three days, a procession led by Maanu and the queen was to accompany his body to the royal mausoleum.

  Ticius cleared his throat and looked first at the queen and then at Maanu. From the folds of his sleeve he produced a second scroll.

  “If I may, my lord, I shall also read what Abgar has asked that you do as king.”

  A murmur of surprise ran through the chamber. Maanu gritted his teeth, certain that his father, even in death, had laid a trap for him.

  The scribe began to read:

  I, Abgar, king of Edessa, order my son, Maanu, now become king, to respect the Christian citizens of this city and to allow them to continue their worship of the Lord Jesus. I hold him responsible, likewise, for the safety of his mother, the queen, whose life is dear to me. The queen may choose her place of residence. She shall be treated with the respect and deference due her rank and shall want for nothing.

  You, my son, shall be the guarantor of all these things I order. Should you not carry out my final orders, God shall punish you, and you shall not find peace in life or in the death thereafter.

  All eyes fell upon the new king. Maanu shook with impotent rage, and it was Marvuz who took charge of the situation.

  “We shall bid farewell to Abgar as he has desired. Now let each of us return to our duties.”

  Slowly, all those who had been in the royal chambers began to file out into the corridor. The queen, pale and quiet, awaited her son’s decision on her fate.

  Maanu waited until the chamber was empty, and then he addressed his mother: “You will not leave this room until I call for you. You will speak to no one inside or outside the palace. Two servants will remain with you. We will bury my father as he has requested. And you, Marvuz, shall
see that my orders are followed.”

  Maanu strode quickly from the chamber. The head of the royal guard turned to the queen.

  “My lady, it will be best that you obey the orders of the king.”

  “I shall, Marvuz.”

  The queen’s eyes met his with such intensity that the head of the guard lowered his eyes in shame; then, bowing quickly, he left her alone.

  The instructions Maanu then imparted to Marvuz were clear: He would bury Abgar as the old king had desired, and an instant after the royal mausoleum was sealed, the royal guard would arrest the leaders of the Christians, the hated Josar and Thaddeus. They would destroy all the temples in which the Christians met to pray. Maanu had also personally charged Marvuz with finding and bringing to the palace the sacred shroud of Jesus.

  The queen was not allowed to leave her chamber until the third day after the death of Abgar. The king’s body lay until that time on a richly ornamented bier placed in the center of the first temple that Abgar had ordered built in honor of Jesus.

  The royal guard watched over the body of the man who had been their king, and the citizens of Edessa filed by to pay homage to the man who for so many decades had secured peace and prosperity for their city.

  “My lady, are you ready?”

  Marvuz had come for the queen; he was to accompany her to the temple. There, with Maanu, she would lead the procession to the mausoleum where Abgar would rest for all eternity.

  The queen had put on her finest tunic and richest veil, and she had adorned herself with the best of her jewels. She looked majestic despite the lines of age and the signs of suffering on her face. By the time they reached the small Christian temple, it was filled with people. The entire court and the principal elders of Edessa were there. The queen looked about for Marcius, and for Josar and Thaddeus, whom Maanu had summoned, but did not see them. She felt uneasy. Where were her friends?

  Maanu, wearing Abgar’s crown, was in obvious high temper at the open defiance of his orders and his guard’s inability to secure the shroud of Jesus, which was no longer in the place where for so many years it had been kept.

  A young disciple of Thaddeus began the ceremony of farewell with a prayer. As the funeral procession was about to depart for the mausoleum, Marvuz was able to approach King Maanu.

  “My lord, we have searched the houses of the leaders of the Christians, but we have not found the shroud. Nor is there any sign of Thaddeus and Josar.”

  Then the head of the royal guard fell silent. There, before him, pushing their way through the crowd, came Thaddeus and Josar, pale as death. The queen opened her arms and, fighting back tears, took each of them by the hand. Josar looked at her tenderly but spoke not a word. Thaddeus, too, was silent.

  Maanu gave the order for the procession to begin. He would settle accounts with the Christians later.

  A silent multitude accompanied the body to the mausoleum. There, before the entrance could be sealed, the queen requested a few moments to pray.

  When the tomb was finally sealed with its stone door, Maanu made a gesture to Marvuz, and Marvuz signaled the guard, who rushed forward to arrest Josar and Thaddeus, in the full sight of all those present. A murmur of terror ran through the multitude as the people realized that Maanu would not obey the will of Abgar, that he was determined to persecute the Christians.

  Some tried to flee, whispering that they would leave Edessa that very night.

  But there was no time even to try. At that instant the royal guard was destroying their houses, and many believers were slain on the spot.

  Horror was on the face of the queen as Marvuz dragged her away, back to the palace. She saw Thaddeus and Josar seized. Neither man offered any resistance or uttered the slightest sound.

  Edessa trembled with fear and anguish. All about the city, men and women howled in pain and desolation. The smell of fire rose to the top of the hill on which the palace stood, while Maanu, in the throne room, drank wine and observed with smug satisfaction the terror on the faces of his courtiers.

  Maanu had ordered the queen to remain standing. Nearby, Josar and Thaddeus, their hands tied behind their backs and their tunics tattered by the lashes dealt them by the royal guard, still had not spoken a word.

  “Ten lashes more! I will have them beg me to end their torment.”

  The guards furiously lashed the old men, but to the wonderment of the court and the wrath of the king, they uttered not a sound.

  The queen cried out when Thaddeus fainted, while tears flowed down the face of Josar, whose back was covered in flayed skin and blood. Then he, too, sank senseless to the floor.

  “Enough! Stop this!” she demanded.

  “How dare you give orders!” Maanu shouted.

  “You are a coward—torturing two old men is not worthy of a king!”

  With the back of his hand Maanu slapped his mother. The queen staggered and fell to the floor. Cries of horror rose from the throats of the courtiers.

  “They will die here, before you all, if they do not tell me where they have hidden the shroud, and their accomplices will die as well—all of them! No matter who they may be!”

  Two guards entered with Marcius, the royal architect, followed by his frightened young servants.

  “Has he told you where the shroud is?” Maanu snapped at the guards.

  “No, my king.”

  “Then whip him until he talks!”

  “We can whip him, my lord, but he will not speak. His servants have told us that he has done a terrible thing: Several days ago he cut out his tongue.”

  The queen looked at Marcius, and then she looked at the unconscious bodies of Thaddeus and Josar. She realized what they had done. In order to keep the secret of the Holy Shroud, they had made this terrible sacrifice so that they would not falter under the torture they would surely suffer.

  She began to weep in grief for her friends, knowing that her son would make them pay dearly for this affront to his will and power.

  Maanu’s entire body trembled with rage, and his face was red with wrath. Marvuz approached him, fearing what he would do next.

  “My lord, we will find someone who knows where the shroud has been hidden. We will search everywhere in Edessa, and we will find it—”

  The king was not listening. Turning to his mother, he pulled her up from the ground and shook her as he screamed at her: “Tell me where it is! Tell me, or I will cut out your tongue!”

  The queen sobbed, her body racked by convulsions. Some of the nobles of the court stepped forward to intervene, seized with shame by their own cowardice, for they had stood by as Maanu struck his mother. If Abgar had seen such an action, he would have had him killed!

  “My lord, release her!” begged one.

  “My king, calm yourself; do not strike your own mother!” another pleaded.

  “You are the king and should show mercy!” counseled a third.

  Marvuz seized the king’s arm as he was about to strike his mother again.

  “My lord!”

  Maanu dropped his arm and leaned on Marvuz, exhausted. His mother and the two miserable old men had defeated him. His wrath was spent.

  His hands tied, Marcius contemplated the scene. He prayed to God to be merciful, to take pity on them all. He thought about Jesus’ agony on the cross, the torture inflicted on him by the Romans, yet how he had forgiven them. Marcius sought deep within himself to forgive Maanu, but he felt only hatred for the arrogant new king.

  The head of the royal guard ordered the queen taken to her chambers. He then drew the king to a chair and set a goblet of wine before him. Maanu drank greedily.

  “They must die,” he said, in almost a whisper.

  “Yes,” Marvuz replied. “And they shall.” He made a sign to the soldiers, and they dragged Thaddeus and Josar out of the room.

  The king raised his head and glared at Marcius.

  “All you Christian dogs shall die. Your houses, your estates, everything you possess, I shall distribute among those w
ho are loyal to me. You, Marcius, have betrayed me doubly. You are one of the great leaders of Edessa, yet you have sold your heart to these Christians who have so bewitched you that you have defiled and mutilated yourself. But I will find the shroud, Marcius, and I will destroy it. That, I swear to you.”

  At a sign from Marvuz, a soldier took the architect away.

  “The king will rest now,” Marvuz announced to the courtiers, motioning them out of the room. “It has been a long and trying day.”

  When the two men were alone, Maanu embraced his accomplice and broke into tears. His mother had embittered the taste of vengeance.

  “I want my mother to die.”

  “She will die, my lord, but in good time. You must wait. First we will search for the shroud and gather and kill the Christians, all of them. Then the queen’s turn will come.”

  Cries of agony and horror and the roaring, crackling sound of fire from the city below echoed in every corner of the palace throughout the long hours of the night.

  ANA JIMÉNEZ COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THE fire in the Turin Cathedral. She spoke to her brother every week, and each time she called she asked about Marco’s investigation. Santiago invariably fumed at her and refused to indulge her curiosity. He sounded close to hanging up on her as they spoke now.

  “You know you’re obsessed, but it doesn’t matter. Ana, for God’s sake, forget about it, will you?”

  “But I can help you, Santiago. I know it.”

  “I keep telling you it’s not my case. It belongs to the Art Crimes Department. Marco wanted my opinion and I gave it to him. So did John. That’s it. The end.”

  “Jesus, Santiago, give me a break. Give me one little peek at the file—I know how to chase down a story. I can see things that cops don’t even look for.”

  “Ah, yes—you reporters are God’s gift to investigations and can do our job ten times better than we can.”

  “Don’t be so damn touchy. You know I’m not saying that.”